"And I would suggest," he said, "that you go and have a talk with that
old boy walking up and down the dock there. Yarn to him about Canada,
he's wild to know about it."
The old naval officer was indeed "wild to know about Canada," so
that the greater part of their shore leave was spent in answering his
questions, and eager though he was to explore the old historic town,
before Barry knew it, he was in the full tide of a glowing description
of his own Province of Alberta, extolling its great ranches, its
sweeping valleys, its immense resources.
"And to think you are all British out there," exclaimed the old salt.
"We're all British, of course," replied Barry, "but not all from
Britain."
"I know, I know," said the officer, "but that only makes it more
wonderful."
"Wonderful! Why, why should it be wonderful?"
"Yes, wonderful. Oh, you Canadians," cried the old salt, impulsively
stretching out his hand to Barry. "You Canadians!"
Surprised, Barry glanced at his face. Those hard blue eyes were brimming
with tears; the leatherlike skin was working curiously about the mouth.
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